


A Touch of Fire

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: A touch of brimstone, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: Steed tries to comfort Emma following A Touch of Brimstone.





	

“I hate men.”

Emma kicked the door of her apartment closed with a spiked bootheel, narrowly missing Steed’s shin. He made a petulant face at her.

“We are good for something,” he said carefully.

“What? What, other than making our lives harder?”

She tossed off the large overcoat she’d been given so that the ride back from Cartney’s wasn’t a source of extreme, even painful, embarrassment. Underneath she still wore the corset, thigh-highs, and gloves that she’d been squeezed into for her part as the Queen of Sin. At least she’d shed the spiked collar, which made her feel something like a pit bull on a lead.

“Cartney is not ‘men’,” said Steed. “I’m not sure what he is, but he’s not men. Was.”

Emma looked at him. More than once that evening during the Ministry clean-up, she’d caught him looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes. But she was not in the mood –not for jokes (of which the Ministry men had been amply supplied), and not for anything even approaching male lust; not even Steed’s. 

“I just want to get out of this ridiculous get-up and into bed.”

She reached down and began to undo the laces on the boots – ridiculous, pinching things, more equipped to compliment the legs than for such activities as walking. The laces were tight and Emma was tired, fumbling at them.

“Damn it!” she shouted.

“Here,” said Steed, coming over. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need help!” Tears of frustration and fatigue rose to her eyes. “I don’t need you standing there looking at me like I’m some helpless creature!”

Steed nodded. “I’ll make some tea.” 

“I don’t want tea.”

“I do.”

She watched him go through wet eyes. The clinking of cups and kettle in the kitchen a moment later brought her back to herself and she finished removing the boots with greater calmness. She got up and went into the bathroom.

The make-up slowly washed away and the cold cream helped to remove the rest. As Emma gazed into her own dark eyes in the bathroom mirror, she felt spent and foreign, as though she’d been a different person until now. Steed came into the doorway with a cup and stood looking at her for a moment.

“You look lovely.”

“With cold-cream on my face?”

“Yes. Tea.” He set the cup down beside her and his eyes met hers in the mirror. “Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay the night. I’m sorry I snapped at you, Steed.”

“It was a natural reaction.”

“Let me wash this off and I’ll be right in.”

“All right.”

She came out of the bathroom to find him seated on the edge of her bed in his pajamas, looking just a little nervous. He was certainly not James Cartney.

He slid his arms about her waist as she held the back of his head, stroking his hair.

“I don’t want to control you, Emma,” he said.

“I know.”

He nuzzled at the soft silk of her nightgown and placed a kiss over her stomach.

“Steed,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his soft curls.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

She cupped his face in her hands and leaned down to kiss him. “I want to.”

They laid down in her bed and traded long kisses, his lips soft and tender against hers. His hand landed almost tentatively on her breast. She leaned into it, letting his fingers and palm play softly across her breast. He lowered his head and kissed the fabric of her nightgown, finding the nipple beneath it. She clasped her hand over the back of his head and closed her eyes.

She needed tenderness and he gave it, exchanging kiss for kiss, loving but not demanding. He would be led by her, as far as she liked, as close as she needed, and she knew it as well as she knew him. He would take nothing she didn’t give him. She guided one hand beneath the hem of her gown. Her eyes closed as his fingers probed between her legs.

“Yes,” she whispered in his ear, kissing the lobe, then his neck as his hand rubbed the fabric of her panties against her. His very tenderness began to overwhelm her senses.

Emma opened her eyes and looked into his. He watched her pleasure with such open fondness that she wanted to cry again, for entirely different reasons.

“Undress me,” she said.

Steed sat up above her and pulled her underwear down and off. She reached for him and he laid between her legs, drawing up her nightgown until her breasts were uncovered to his tender mouth and tongue. His weight on her was never uncomfortable.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, kissing her ribs one by one.

“I want you out of those pajamas.”

She laughed when he nearly flew off the bed, tossing off pajama shirt and trousers. They’d barely settled on the floor when he was back on the bed with her, pressing between her legs.

“Now?” He kissed her jaw.

“Touch me, Steed.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

She saw the understanding in his eyes. He began to kiss her – her cheeks, her chin, her eyes and mouth. He descended her body with deliberate slowness, his mouth following where his hands touched. She felt his lips on her hipbone, her pelvis, and then his hands spread her thighs. The kiss on her clitoris jolted her, but he did not stop, fondling the soft skin between her legs, his hands roving across her abdomen and down her legs to her knees.

“Turn over,” he whispered, guiding her onto her stomach. Fingers traced her shoulder blades, mouth followed her spine. He caressed her buttocks. Emma felt as though she would melt into the sheets – tension ebbed from her body, replaced by the warm, pleasant ache that she knew he would satisfy. She could feel his arousal against her back – that warmed her too, and she reached behind to find him and stroke him. She felt his breath catch and the soft moan that escaped his lips.

“Do you want me?” he whispered, massaging her gently between her thighs.

“Yes.”

And she realized that if she said no, if she asked him to stop or told him that she couldn’t that night, that he would not leave. He wouldn’t be angry, or petulant. He would just lie down beside her.

“How?” he continued, fingers probing within her.

She turned onto her side and he slipped down beside her. “Like this.”

He understood. He always understood – a look, a smile, a word, and he knew what she wanted, sometimes before she did. He stretched out behind her and separated her legs with the back of his hands, sliding one of his legs between hers. She held onto his thigh, felt the pressure of his erection against her.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he whispered, kissing her ear.

There was nothing like the sensation of having him inside her. The feel of him, his width and power, the gentleness behind everything he did, his deep concern to please her. For a moment he did not move, just lay there, letting her feel him. Then he began gently rocking his hips against hers in small, gentle thrusts. His hand traveled down to press against her clitoris, the other wrapped her close to his chest. His thumb caressed her lips until she opened her mouth and bit down lightly on the tip.

“You’re wonderful.” He kissed her shoulder, sucked on the skin. “You’re so wonderful, Emma.”

“Steed.”

“Does this feel good?”

“Yes.”

Her answer was choked off by a small orgasm and he stopped moving, drawing her back from the edge. Steed adjusted his position, kissed and caressed her until her breathing evened again. No man had ever paid such mind to her body, seeming to read her reactions and docket them for reference. She often wondered where he had learned his technique – he was sensitive and intuitive in every other area of his life, she supposed there was no reason to suspect he would be otherwise in his lovemaking. As he once told her, though, he’d long ago found that his pleasure was increased exponentially by his partner’s. He was not being altruistic in any sense.

“And this?” he whispered, fondling her breasts as he picked up his rhythm.

The only response she was capable of was a short moan. The wave of pleasure connecting two erogenous zones made her warm and aching. Exquisite torture as he pleased her. He licked his thumb and rubbed it against her nipple. She arched back with a cry, desperate to come and knowing too well that he wasn’t done yet. Then she felt him adjust again. He reached down and pressed two fingers against her clitoris, his lunges faster, deeper, drawing her back against him. She grasped his hand and met him as best she could in her limited position.

“Let me take you there,” he said into her ear.

Emma closed her eyes, felt the building of the orgasm within her, nearing that moment when she would be anchored to the earth just by him. This was what sex should mean.

Afterwards, they lay spooned together in the still glaring light of her bedroom. Emma closed her eyes, focusing on his heartbeat against her back. She must have dozed, because the next thing she knew the light had gone out and he climbing back into the bed and drawing the sheets up around them. She rolled over into the comfortable crook of his shoulder.

“I love you, Emma,” he said quietly.

Her heart rose as it always did when he said those words. She grasped his hand.

“I love you too.”


End file.
